ZARIAH
It was a frigid hell that the Voice had sent her into, one she would have liked at least the slightest indication about so as to have brought a coat. Unlike the Goddess, she was susceptible to the elements, but fortune had shined upon her. Military training allowed her retain some body heat, allowing her magic to release bursts of static electricity along her skin and through her muscles to keep her moving long enough to be found by guards. Under most circumstances she would have put up a fight but…well if this led to somewhere warm she figured she had a better chance of breaking out of a jail cell than surviving a night in this wilderness.
The citadel had been a surprising bastion of civilization in the middle of the tundra, still remaining quiet in the face of the guards. She focused instead on not shivering, not wishing to show any sign of weakness as her body began to warm again, skin tingling from regaining sensation and the after effects of her magic. When finally called she walked into the room with her head held high, heels clicking against the floor in her characteristic way.
She saw the top of his head over the back of the chair and for a moment her step hesitated, zeroing in on the man in the chair with laser focus. It couldn’t be.
A small bolt of lightning zapped the forearm of the guard guiding her in – not enough to cause real damaged just enough to make him let her go – and in four quick steps she had gotten around the chair to behold his face. Neron. The Merciless froze, scrutinizing every inch of the man that sat before her in the chair, face blank of emotion save for her eyes – uncertainty, tinged with hope – which he had always been so adept at reading anyways. The number of times she had imagined this reality, what she would do, what she would say, did not prepare her for the reality. For a moment she was struck dumb, the slight part of her lips the indicator of her shock.
And, to her own surprise, she began to laugh. Not loudly, not uncontrolled; a low, chuckle, lips curving in a mischievous smile.
”My, my, my…It is amazing what you can accomplish when you don’t laze away the day in bed, isn’t it, Neron?” she cooed, the only thing keeping her from jumping into his arms the presence of his guards in the room.
The citadel had been a surprising bastion of civilization in the middle of the tundra, still remaining quiet in the face of the guards. She focused instead on not shivering, not wishing to show any sign of weakness as her body began to warm again, skin tingling from regaining sensation and the after effects of her magic. When finally called she walked into the room with her head held high, heels clicking against the floor in her characteristic way.
She saw the top of his head over the back of the chair and for a moment her step hesitated, zeroing in on the man in the chair with laser focus. It couldn’t be.
A small bolt of lightning zapped the forearm of the guard guiding her in – not enough to cause real damaged just enough to make him let her go – and in four quick steps she had gotten around the chair to behold his face. Neron. The Merciless froze, scrutinizing every inch of the man that sat before her in the chair, face blank of emotion save for her eyes – uncertainty, tinged with hope – which he had always been so adept at reading anyways. The number of times she had imagined this reality, what she would do, what she would say, did not prepare her for the reality. For a moment she was struck dumb, the slight part of her lips the indicator of her shock.
And, to her own surprise, she began to laugh. Not loudly, not uncontrolled; a low, chuckle, lips curving in a mischievous smile.
”My, my, my…It is amazing what you can accomplish when you don’t laze away the day in bed, isn’t it, Neron?” she cooed, the only thing keeping her from jumping into his arms the presence of his guards in the room.
heavy is the crown
but never for a queen
but never for a queen
